Rising
by Mariamwrites
Summary: Leo Valdez's mistakes are often too much for him to cope with. But sometimes, all he really needs is a kind word.


The night air rolling inside the cracks in the wooden walls of Bunker 9 was of the pleasant kind. Summer gusts of wind and the chirps of cicadas outside and the heat that rode on the back of the air were enough for Leo to be certain that the fireflies were out tonight. But he was inside, eyes straining to read his own notes, and a sadness in his heart at himself. Hands tracing the dents of a hard pushed pen, he'd sometimes catch himself smiling at spelling mistakes and remembering the memories that came with them.

_5 years old and wondering whether the spelling test tomorrow would be the one where he finally got it right, where his eyes would finally recognise where the letters were instead of squirming away from his brain every time he tried to grab at them, and all he needed was the cool voice of his mother, a smile in her encouragement.  
"You'll get it right, mijo," She'd smile, delicate hands slowly removing his tight grasp on his papers in frustration. He always wondered how such delicate hands could be so masterful, so strong._

_And when the night was too long, and it wasn't words that were worrying him, it'd be the shadows and the absence of the light, and the flame inside her dark brown eyes he'd see when he couldn't sleep, warming him, comforting him.  
"Tell me a story, mom," He'd say, watching her tired frame on his bed, the dirty overalls and the long plaited hair swept across one shoulder.  
"I'll tell you my favourite," She'd smile, peering in close to tuck him in, and then speaking of myths and magic, and the phoenix that rose from the ashes after its death. It was like even then, she knew his worst fears. She saw them in the dark eyes that mirrored her own, and he'd wonder… Did she see that fire too? The one that silhouetted her into being, that followed her every move, that was her passion… It wasn't something physical, but something that followed her. As if she was the fire herself, the force of being, something so alive and flickery and wonderful… _

And the Leo of the present in Bunker 9 swallowed the lump in his throat as he remembered what real fire did. What real fire did to the fire that was his mother. What _he _did. And then the tears spilled over, and he let himself be swallowed in that, shaking body and skinny shoulder blades through the convulsions.  
"What am I doing?" He'd mutter to himself in between the sobs, but no matter how much he tried to stop them, they didn't leave. As if they were trying to drench the fire-starting boy he was. Killed his mom, and it didn't stop there, did it?  
"You sent Percy and Annabeth to Tartarus." He said in the silence. And then screamed it, throwing his papers to the wall, and kicking the bench in frustration. Sliding down the wall in anger at himself, and covering his head with his arms.  
"Oh, what am I doing?"

"Being human." Came the reply, and Leo snapped to attention, eyes scanning the doorway for someone, anyone, he knew, and finding simply the shadow of a little girl.  
He wiped his tears furtively, and then tried to resume normality.  
"Y-you can't be in here, I'm sorry."  
"Oh," The girl said smiling, handing pieces of paper towards him, "I can. You might not know me, but I know you."  
"I- what?!" Leo sighed, the tenseness of his body wavering once again, "I'm too tired to play these games."

But that didn't stop him from peering in closer at the girl, and discovering the glow around her. As if she could be anything other than a goddess.  
"Hestia." He muttered, cheeks glowing pink in embarrassment. "Wait, how did I know that?!"  
The goddess looked amused, but said nothing, walking closer towards him so that Leo almost inched away in fright. There was something about the presence of gods that made him nervous. Even if they did look as harmless as this one did.  
"You know more than you think, Leo Valdez." She said, perching on the edge of a wooden desk, feet dangling over the edge in a way that would've been almost comedic if she wasn't.. y'know… a god. "And you're completely human. Well. Demigod, but more human than us gods are. And that's a good thing," She smiled good-naturedly at him.  
"I'm not so sure anymore," Leo muttered. "Humans make mistakes." He saw the fleeting image of his friends the way he imagined them if they realised just who was responsible for Percy and Annabeth's being in Tartarus. Jason and Piper and Frank and Hazel and Hedge… and the entire Camp… Turning away from him, condemning him as an outcast. _Always the seventh-wheel._  
"And so do gods." She said, "But you have something in you, Leo. Something precious that needs to be cared for. Not drowned in your own self-hatred."

She turned his face toward him.  
"Not drowned in regret. You couldn't do any more than you did."  
Leo blushed, wondering how she knew.

"Do you know what I'm goddess of, Leo?" She asked, and he was thankful for the change in subject.  
"The hearth." He replied, "But I'm not really sure what that is."  
"It's the floor of a fireplace. The staple of the home. I'm guardian of warmth and humanity, and that is what fire symbolises. Yes, it causes destruction. But it's also a provider of comfort."  
Leo said nothing. The air inside the bunker suddenly felt much, much warmer.  
"What do phoenixes do, Leo?"  
"Uh…" His mother's face suddenly swam before his eyes, "They rise from the ashes."  
"Precisely. They make something of their mistakes. They don't _allow _their mistakes to stay mistakes." She sighed, and then moved to sit closer to him, kneeling on the dusty floor, "You are fire. You are your own home. You make mistakes. You can change them. You can be your own phoenix. And the one of those around you. I have faith in you."

And with that, she stood, dusting her clothes with her slight hands, and then smiled, gone in an explosion of light Leo was quick to turn his face away from.

The peculiarity of the entire encounter baffled him, and the silence interrupted by the cicadas suddenly felt even louder.  
"I can be my own phoenix." He muttered to himself uncertainly.

The root of the story of his past and his mother's gestures as she told them to him whirled inside of his mind. And then they were replaced by the ashes of the garage he saw that day. The disappearance of his mother.  
"She was my phoenix, too." He spoke to himself, "My home. And she won't be rising again."

He began to pick up the papers he'd thrown to the ground before and placed them on the wooden desk, sitting himself down at it with new-found enthusiasm. Picking up a pen, he wrote clearly, carefully: _Planning The Rescue of Percy and Annabeth- Attempt #1._

"I can rise for both of us, though." He said, smiling at the words. "I can try and rise for all of us."


End file.
